MURDER AND THE MOLE.

Auckland Star, Volume LXVII, Issue 91, 17 April 1936, Page 15

MURDER AND THE MOLE.

THE man in the old blue suit sat on a park bcnch and watched the small-

eyed, soft-furred, little animal burrowing in a heap of mould under a tree.

The sun was hot, but the man in the blue suit didn't seem to mind. He sat watching'the little creature under the tree, and there was a queer, twisted smile on his lips. "Miglity queer things at times, moles," he said. I put down the paper I was reading. A little furtively I eyed him up and down. Powerful-looking brute. . . . "Yes," I said, "interesting little creatures. Why, a mole has been known to burrow two hundred yards in a single night. Just think of that now. . . He turned his head slightly. Ilis eyes became fixed on me with a sardonic gleam in them. "Oil, I don't mean them kind of moles," he said. "I was talkin' about the sort you get on your face. Made me think of the Chepstow affair, five years ago."

I eyed the man with new interest. He drew his untidy-looking bundle along tho seat and seemed waiting for me to say something.

"Well, what happened at Chepstow, five years ago?" I challenged.

He leant forward and spat in the grass. "Murder," he said, "that's wot 'appened, mate. Didn't you never read about it? Why, the papers were full of it at the time. I can remember —" He paused and stared at the sky reflectively. "Well, what did the Chepstow murder have to do with moles on tlje face?" I asked, inclined to be sarcastic.

He swung round to face me on the seat. "What did moles on the face 'ave to do with it?" he repeated. "Why, a 'ell of a lot, if you want to know. Why, if that there bloke 'adn't 'ad a mole on 'is face that night—"

"Excuse me," T said, "what bloke are you talking about? The one that did the murder? Or the one that was murdered?"

"Neither," he growled. "I was just sayin', if it 'adn't been for that there mole on 'is face, one murder might 'ave led to another, that's all. An' a innocent man might 'ave got 'ung for it. An' I daresay, if 'c 'ad done, no one would have said a word of blame agen the British Broadcastin'- Corporation, or whatever they calls it.

"But it didn't 'appen in Chepstow, mate. That's where the murder 'appened. An' it might 'ave 'appened agen at Crowbury if—" "If what?" I demanded impatiently.

"If Sam Bellows 'adn't 'ad a mole on 'is face, mate. It was that there mole wot saved 'is life."

My mind was full of fog, but he went on in a lo>v, growling undertone. . . .

~ "The feller wot was murdered' at Chepstow was called Briggs. The bloke wot done 'im in went by the name of Porter'ousc. Sailor, he was. . . Briggs asked for it, any'ow.

"That's why they—Well, as I was sayin', mate, Sam Bellows might 'ave gorn an' got murdered as well if. . . . You don't know Crowbury, do you, mate? Little place, it is, miles from anywhere. "Well, that night, Peter Traill was in the 'ouse alone. 'Is wife 'ad gorn to see 'er mother, wot was taken bad or somethink. Any'ow, Peter Traill was all by hisself in a big an' lonely 'ouse miles from anywhere. "Little man, 'e was, an' scared of 'is own shadder, almost.

"It was a dirty night. Rain an' wind. . . An', all of a sudden, Peter Traill heard a terrific thumpin' on the back door. He wouldn't open it at first, bein' that scared, an' when 'e did, 'e wished 'e 'adn't.

"A great big, hulkin' brute of a feller stumbled inside, knockin' 'im out o' the way. Peter Traill was too scared to say anytliin' much. . "The feller was drunk, too, an' 'e 'ad a dangerous look, so Peter Traill said. 'E was frightened out of 'is wits almost. The feller told 'im 'e'd tramped all the way from Chepstow that night, an' he demanded food an' money.

"After tellin' Peter Traill all this, 'e flings hisself down o'n the couch in the sittin' roojn an' drops off to sleep. 'Is snores was so loud they shook the 'ouse almost, an' Peter Traill stood an' stared At 'im as he lay there, wishin' 'is wife 'adn't e'er 'ad a mother, almost.

"Now Peter had left the wireless on, bein too scared to think o' turnin' it off, an' all of a sudden, as 'e' stood there, 'e 'eard it say somethink about the Chepstow murder. "Peter pricked up 'is ears at that, 'an 'is knees shook. ... It was a message from the Commissioner o' Police, givin' a description of this feller, Porter'ouse, wot was wanted for killin' Briggs the day afore.

"Dangerous character, 'e was, accordin' to the report, an' thought to be lurkin' somewhere in the vicinity of the crime. It gave 'is description—old blue

(SHOET STORY.)

j (By Stephen Phillips.) ft

suit 'e was wearin', with a soft 'at pulled down over 'is' eyes, blue overcoat an' black hair. An' 'e walked like a sailor. "'E was one. . . An' then, when Peter Traill plucked up 'is courage a bit an' took a good look at the feller 011 the couch, 'e very near 'ad a fit, for the description fitted 'im to a T, as the sayin' is. "Peter Traill stood there and shivered. 'E had some money in the 'ouse, 'idden away, an' when 'c thought of that 'e went into another panic. Suddenly the bloke 011 the couch opens 'is eyes an' sees Peter Traill standin' there. 'E gets upon 'is feet in a terrible temper an' starts liellowin'. "Then 'e makes a grab at Peter Traill ail' pulls him down 011 the coucli. 'E puts 'is feet on Peter's eliest 'an goes off to sleep again, an', for a long time after that Peter Traill was too scared to move, for fear o' wakin' 'im.

"An' all the time 'e was gettin' hisself more worked up, imaginin' all sorts 0' things was goin' to 'appen to 'im.

"Then Peter Traill 'as an idea. 'E'd got it fixed in 'is mind by that time that this bloke was the murderer all right, an' 'e'd probably murder 'im, too, when 'c woke up, like 'e 'ad Briggs.

"So Peter slides hisself off the couch. 'E goes into the scullery 'an picks up a chopper. It's 'is idea to get in the first blow, an' while the murderer's sound asleep.

"Then he goes back into the room an' lifts the chopper to strike. But he don't. Suddenly 'e sees the big mole wot this bloke 'as got on 'is chin. The police description 'adn't said anythin' about a mole, an' Peter Traill 'ad some sense in 'is 'ead, although not much.

"'E knew a mole was a landmark, so to speak, an' 'e stood there, wonderin', an' just a little bit doubtful, an', while 'e's 'standin' there, the bloke wakes up, an' it's too late. . . Peter Traill drops the chopper an' runs for 'is life. 'B 'ears the bloke get up, after a bit, an' leave the 'ouse, but Peter don't come downstairs agen until the next mornin', when 'e reads that the real murderer 'ad been caught at Middlecross, twenty miles teli other side o' Chepstow. . . ."

"Porterhouse, ron mean? The other fellow was Sam Bellows," I said.

"'Course 'e was. Wouldn't 'ave 'urt a fly, only 'e was so drunk 'e didn't know wot 'e was doin' that night. . . .

But, as I was sayin', if it 'adn't 'ave been for that there mole on 'is face. . . ."

"And what happened to the real murderer, Porterhouse?" I asked. "Oh, 'im," said the man in the blue suit, picking up his bundle, '"e got five years for manslaughter. Funny, tliey let 'im out this mornin'. Well, so long, mate. . . ." I watched liim as he moved away. He walked like a sailor.